About Fred

All posts at The Fred Effect are written by Fred Miller+

It’s my real name. I didn’t just make it up because it’s silly or a great eye catcher for web publishing. It’s my damn name. I have actually been required to produce my ID at parties because some girl thought I was having her on. She would check to see that my name was really “Fred”, and then she’d go have sex with a guy with a cool name like Vince or Deano.

For my pedigree, I was named after my German grandfather, Fred Heiman. I made a rule in college never to mention that last name. Did that once. Then, after that, all night at the party, they called me “Buster.” Anyway, I have a legit pedigree in my Fred-line that may go back to the Roman legions in Germanica. I don’t know. I also have an uncle named Fred, but I’m not named after him exactly. It’s more like he and I are both named after the same guy—his grandfather.

My uncle Fred is pretty cool. Quite imperturbable, really. It was nice having someone else with this name while I was growing up. Somebody who wasn’t a truck driver’s Basset hound or a cartoon rock quarry employee. Other than the name, Uncle Fred and I aren’t much alike. He is a success; I’m on my fifth career.

Totally not kidding here. Our grandfather Fred named one of his children Ferd. I spelled that correctly. I met my great uncle Ferd once when I was about six. He called me Ferdinand, the Bull with a big smile on his face as he shook my hand. I remember mostly how warm and dry his hand was. Made me feel good.

That’s one of the reasons I use my name so much. It helps people to feel okay. It makes me less intimidating. My friends LOVE it. Even my wives grew accustomed to gasping it aloud in moments of high passion. It just makes people feel okay. They shake my hand and walk away, and they’re like, Jeezus! At least I don’t have that poor bastard’s name. Wanna go have sex, Ashley?